Play Time Touches
by Kajune
Summary: With both of them off work, Shizuo decides to allow Izaya free access to his self, much to the Informant's fiendish delight.


**Title **: Play Time Touches

**Disclaimer** : I do not own any of the Characters of Durarara!.

**Genre** : -

**Warning **: OOCness.

**Summary **: With both of them off work, Shizuo decides to allow Izaya free access to his self, much to the Informant's fiendish delight.

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><p>Orihara Izaya slides his hand up the back of the shoulder, over the top, then slides left upon that smooth black vest, towards the neck. Oh so tenderly, he wraps his fingers around it, putting little to no pressure on it, though enough for its owner to know a hand is there, ready to do anything he so wishes.<p>

All the while, he smiles fiendishly.

Legs dangling, on either side of the waist of the blonde sitting on a chair, a wooden chair, one belonging to said man. The chair was pulled from a wooden table, a table it was bought with at a low price. Behind the chair is now the main room's sofa, blue in color, with a cheap television in front of it. Behind the sofa is the kitchen, equipped with all the things a single man needs to exist, _needs_, not wants.

It is also where the wooden table is.

Both rooms have only old photographs as decoration, two in each, and all four contain the blonde with at least one other person. Towards the sofa's right, further behind the chair, are the entrances to the single bedroom and bathroom. Today it is still a mystery as to why the owner has a double bed, one side pressed against the wall that has a window, said side never used unless the owner bumped about all night.

Behind the raven happily on the bartender-dressed man's lap, towards the front of the chair, is the entrance or exit of this small but decent place. A few large pair of shoes lay neatly by the door, with one odd pair, being black and smaller than the rest, also present. Nearby is a coat hanger, bought as a gift therefore rarely used. On it is a large winter coat, and a fur-trimmed darker coat.

Aside from the chit-chat of neighbors, the honking of vehicles on the road, there is silence in the room, the room holding the only two lives in said place. One of them is the rightful owner, the other is the sole guest. If the room was alive, it would be shouting hysterically, demanding to know why the Informant - of all people - is a guest.

Having guests or visitors is rare anyway, yet on this day, the last person anyone would expect to enter this place turns out to be 'the special guest'. To make things more stunning, it was the owner - the blonde - who invited the raven, an invitation made by eventually storming off to said raven's own place of work slash residence, and demanding him (without property damage besides the locked front door) to come over, nearly dragging him by the hood of his coat hadn't Izaya feared public disgrace.

Now alone together within these walls, without even the slightest bicker since that door was forced out of place, Izaya continues to play silently, teasingly, and evilly with the renowned monster he has been avoiding on purpose until now. Which is exactly why the blonde had good reason to knock his door down, and will get away with not paying for the damage done. Following that defeat, the Informant does not intend to lose a second battle.

Heiwajima Shizuo looks on rather impassively as he, despite being aware, remains still and does nothing to stop the other hand from sneakingly bringing out that switchblade from the left pocket of tight trousers. His grin still the same, Izaya aligns the blade just above his right thumb, right at the voice box inside Shizuo's neck, the blade touching the skin with noticeable pressure; _a challenge_.

Uninterested in fighting the man he spent days trying to get hold of, Shizuo _continues_ to remain lifeless, free for the other man's enjoyment. Izaya is allowed to do whatever he wants, for the first time, but not out of trust, simply out of the knowledge that whatever Izaya does, Shizuo has every right to decide whenever he shall retaliate. This is his home, his place, his _territory_, no one else's.

So here holds only his rules.

However, Izaya was never directly told that this unique body is his to play with for now. Mainly because of his twisted nature, did he decide to play regardless of consent. Not to mention, he feels defeated, dethroned, and the best way to reclaim his pride is to give the other a taste of his own medicine. It is because he too is aware of Shizuo's superiority in terms of strength over him that he dares to touch him like this. While most would shiver and flee in less than a second, Izaya is thrilled by challenge.

Always has been.

Eventually, the blade presses in harder and deep enough to cause a thin line of blood to emerge, and slide down towards the shirt's collar. Shizuo inhales disapprovingly at this, but makes no move to hit, to strike, only sits still with the bearable weight upon him. His own arms are simply dangling beside him, comfortably left to be pulled only by gravity.

Izaya's lips (somehow) widen more, when reddish orbs meet the red liquid. Sliding the blade back into one of its many hiding places, Izaya squeezes his right hand, testing to see how much more blood he can make come out. Shizuo frowns at this. He seriously shouldn't have given him so much freedom.

"Stop."

Their eyes meet, or more precisely, stare at each other through purple lenses. Izaya feels a small return of his stolen pride upon hearing a protest, making him feel even more delighted. He wants to laugh, to taught the other, but that look alone tells him, that he may have just crossed the boarder.

One hand of Shizuo rolls into a fist, and instantly after does he (somehow) emit a dark, invisible aura towards the offender. Izaya, despite having come here hoping to get some form of revenge by any means, finds himself feeling vulnerable. He hates that. Though, without a change in expression or posture, he uses his right thumb to brush at the cut, taking away some of the escaped blood as his hand loosens on the neck. As his hand grows warm from the contact, Shizuo's glare doesn't seem to falter.

Suddenly, he smirks.

_He smirks!_

A look of surprise, for a very brief moment, crosses Izaya's features when he sees this. Such confidence, why? The answer comes in the form of warmth, but not warmth like that on his fingers, rather, warmth from having a hand on his hip. Before his eyes can dart down to see what the hand - he had so foolishly ignored - is doing, said hand comes up to reveal his dirty switchblade, unfolded, then folded, before being thrown backwards. Due to the blonde's unusual strength, he manages to hit the bedroom door, but leaves no mark as the blade lands ungracefully onto the floor.

Izaya pouts at this.

_He pouts._

Looking back at Shizuo with an expression half-confident half-annoyed, he sees the blonde still smiling, just before words come out. Not a hint of anger is present on the blonde. The fearsome aura is gone and the left hand is open, not clenched. **He had been fooled.** The tone of Shizuo's voice now holds amusement; not surprisingly.

"Want to continue?"

Izaya considers this. This man seriously doesn't mind him doing anything to his body, aside from damaging it like he would have preferred so much more to do. Realizing now that he was given consent to play around, and can only do so unless he is crazy enough to punch the man helplessly, Izaya accepts his situation and resumes brushing his hands, examining the man he is on top of in ways no one - probably besides the man's parents and doctors - have been able to.

Maybe even the doctors never got this privilege. A privilege so not suited for an enemy.

A life long rival.

The room resumes being quiet as the two men do not exchange words. Izaya's (clean) hand is brushing circles on Shizuo's chest, while his (dirty) hand is outstretched, resting on Shizuo's shoulder. He kind of fears that this man will punch him if he gets his super-precious uniform covered in anything but fingerprints, but shows no sign of it as his expression returns to its full glory.

After what felt like five long minutes, Izaya brings that hand up the brute's neck and cups his cheek, taken aback slightly by how soft it is. He goes around to caress the other side with the back of his hand, moves his fingers along the outer part of those ears, and once trails his index finger down that nose. Then, he decides to break the silence.

"May I take off your glasses?"

Shizuo raises a brow at this, but nevertheless shrugs his shoulders, nearly knocking Izaya's arm off as he does. With both hands but only with the clean fingers, the smiling Informant carefully removes the shades and throws them onto the coffee table, which stands between the sofa and television. Shizuo quickly turns to see it land, fortunately gently, and sighs while turning back, only to feel the dry palm of Izaya's bloodied hand brush his hair locks away from his forehead. His other hand, seems to have fallen for the tenderness of his cheek, as it goes back to cupping it, like Heiwajima Namiko used to do.

Usually her efforts were to comfort him or cheer him up after an outburst.

Now, he feels nothing much at the contact.

Izaya is careful with no dying Shizuo's fake hair color with his blood. He repeatedly moves hair away, revealing more of those chocolate-brown eyes he rarely sees bearing any emotion, besides hate. Now, they seem to shine _wonder_ at him.

His smile magically widens some more in delight.

For the first time, he gets a good, clear look of Shizuo's eyes, in their natural glory. No contact lenses, no fashionable glasses, or boiling rage. Just...an innocent look unfit for the reputation their owner holds. Beautiful. Such a thought accidently slips his mouth.

"Beautiful eyes."

He changes not his expression to hide the humiliation of having praised his enemy. Steadily, he leans back to take a better view of the man's face, almost worried about the look he may be showing after having heard such a thing, from such a person, a person he tends to call 'a flea'. Yet, he hasn't called him that for quite a while, however, when he burst into his office half sane, he did yell 'damn pain in the ass puny _flea_'. Again, he had every right to be the way he was back then; Izaya was being so deviously cruel.

"Took you a good number of years to be this honest."

To the Informant's suppressed horror, Shizuo is smiling in victory at the compliment, which he must be able to tell was unintended, otherwise, he would have felt that his enemy was only being nice for a second...or simply talking to himself, with both having happened at least once in Shizuo's presence, with the latter being most often.

An indeed twisted man, Orihara Izaya is.

As twisted as he is, also, his stubbornness falls not below said personality trait. His expression, at least to people who know him hardly at all unlike Shizuo, continues to show no pain from defeat, repeated defeat. With a smile thin and wide, Izaya breaks the returning silence with his own, calm voice.

"Does that mean you will trust me more, Shizu-chan?"

Unfazed by the cutesy nickname, like how he has been unfazed by everything but the cut to the neck, Shizuo remains smiling at the owner of the hands still playing almost lovingly with his face, and responds. His voice doesn't sound cocky, never has, but pure confidence can now be heard.

"I'll add a few more percentages to it."

Both proceed to smile widely at each other, mutually finding the brand new change in their destructive - _usually_ destructive - relationship an interesting thing. As Izaya's right hand continues to carefully brush at the blonde locks, it suddenly lets a drop of blood hit Shizuo's trousers. Both men look at the stain, and while Izaya does expect a fist to his handsome face, Shizuo tilts his head back and sighs. When he looks forward again, his left hand reaches up and takes hold of Izaya's right wrist.

For some odd reason, the raven assumed the other was going to yank his hand off.

Not that he couldn't.

Instead, the brute does something more surprising. Bringing said hand over to the Informant's reduced smile, Shizuo holds it there as he states his reason. His expression has resumed being serious, usually a sign that he's annoyed...or dead bored.

"Lick it clean."

_What?_

_Seriously?_

Izaya finds it painfully hard to resist looking dumbfounded. He knows that doing this will take a chunk out of his pride, and he honestly doesn't want that. Though before he can make any quick remark or protest, or even question the other's brain activity, the hold on his thin wrist tightens, soundlessly telling him of his options.

Zero.

Unless he counts losing his arm as a good choice.

It takes Izaya a full minute (at least) to consent. He lets out a heavy sigh, and by bringing his two fingers and a thumb to his lips himself, Shizuo lets go and resumes dangling both his arms. He watches, probably with amusement, as Izaya seductively cleans his slender fingers of blood.

_Seductively._

Either the man does this often with enjoyment, or is a Vampire.

If Shizuo ever assumed the latter, he would have pushed the other off and stuffed his mouth with the garlic his brother so kindly bought, as an emergency meal.

After a while, the blood is gone, down Izaya's throat and into his system. His tongue has skillfully removed all traces of it from his mouth too, and whether he liked the taste or not, he will not even imply it. Too bad, since Shizuo wouldn't have minded hearing a comment about it, at least, one from Izaya.

With a chestier grin, Izaya holds up his two fingers and thumb, and childishly announces :

"They're clean~!"

Shizuo nods with a small, approving smile. Those soft fingers may now be soaked in Izaya's drying saliva, but at least such a substance won't stain his precious gift. Almost immediately, Izaya's left hand returns to Shizuo's cheek, caressing it so similar to how a mother would to her child. Shizuo is beginning to enjoy the touch, so he leans his head slightly to the left, granting the Informant further access to that side of his face.

Izaya merely grins wider at the gesture.

With the dry parts of Izaya's hands resuming their play on Shizuo's face, and soon body, neither say a word as the sun outside eventually falls towards the horizon. No one ever comes into that room, no one ever calls them, goes searching for them anywhere in Ikebukuro. Today is their day off, surprisingly a shared day off. Having spent half of the year doing their preferred professions to the best of their capabilities, they are glad not to be disturbed for once.

To be free to do whatever they choose.

No one to judge or question them. Just them, playing around like men who never hated each other.

They still do, though, they just _choose_ not to express it.

It's play time.

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><p><strong>Owari<strong>

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><p><strong>Author's Note <strong>: Thank you so much for reading. No Yaoi was intended in this story, but if you like, you can imagine it. I'm not sure what genre this should have, but feel free to suggest one. I hope you enjoyed reading.

See you next time~


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